


A Collection of Alpha Stridercest Prompt Fills

by turntechnologic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Underage - Freeform, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntechnologic/pseuds/turntechnologic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I take Alpha Stridercest requests on my <a href="http://www.turntechnologic.tumblr.com/">writing blog</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Collection of Alpha Stridercest Prompt Fills

**Author's Note:**

> [oyajiz](http://www.oyajiz.tumblr.com/) asked: UR FANFICS R SO GOOD LMFAOOOOoo fuc!!!K!!! god submits this so it isnt an ask, im so embarrassed, i wish id made my yaoi blog on a separate acc so this url isnt attached. god can i ask for a Furry Creature/dave :-3 or dirk/alpha dave where alpha dave is da bitch bottom n it can be dubcon-y/bdsm lol ! ! !!!!L!O!O!L!!! SORRY IM SO EMBARRASSE DLMFAO, puts my head in my hands
> 
> This one's kinda vague, sorry :s they're not actually at a wedding, Dirk is just a piece of crap.

The dim lights hanging from the ceiling sway and blink and dazzle your eyes whenever you catch sight of them while tipping your head back to down another shot. Liquid fire burns a hole in your stomach and licks up your throat and onto your tongue, but before you could ask a cool glass of water was already being pressed into your hand.

“They’ve got great service here.” You slur, squinting through your shades at the man beside you. He comes into focus like you’re peering at him through a poorly adjusted microscope, bits of pieces zooming in and out and blurring before you can actually make out his face. He doesn’t look much like a waiter, but eventually you decide you know him, and if the hand on your bicep is any indication, he knows you too.

“Had enough yet, bro?” The man asks as he squeezes your arm appreciatively, but the commanding nudge to the unsipped glass in your hand diverts your thoughts away from wondering whether or not you liked the feeling.

You nod a few times, pleased as punch with whatever it was your companion had said, feeling the cold water sooth over your burnt throat like oil.

The hand on your arm glides up to push some hair out of your eyes, and you gasp when the curtain is lifted.

“Dirk! What are you doing here?”

Your little brother drops the spread of bangs back over your eyes with a sigh, and some part of you picks up the annoyed tone. Apparently your brain was hardwired to automatically pick up any signal of emotion you could receive from your brother’s cryptic expressions.

“You invited me, dickwad. I’m your plus one, remember? It’s pretty embarrassing- you obviously came to drink, leaving your date high and dry like this.”

A fuzzy image of the events of the night threatens to take form in front of your mind, but you still need a little help .   
  
“Dirk, where are we?”

He rolls his eyes- or, you know he does. You can’t actually see from the way the two of you are seated, but it wasn’t that hard to imagine. Had Dirk always been this close?

“Snoop Dogg’s wedding after-party. You cried the whole way through the ceremony and decided getting plastered was the next order of business.”

A gasp tears up the healing skin at the back of your throat, and Dirk presses another glass into your hand.

“Do you know where he is? I gotta tell him I love him.”

“I’m sure he knows.” Dirk sneers coldly as you gulp down a mouthful what he gave you. “But fine, let’s go look for him. I heard he was in a room upstairs.”

Dirk helps you up with a hand on your lower back, and he keeps it there as the two of you move unsteadily away from the bar- or, you did, at least.

“I think you should drink that.” Dirk says as he taps the glass that sloshed it’s clear contents over the edge of the rim in your shaky hand. You nod a little and lift it to your lips, tasting a faint bite of some kind of flavor in the liquid that had you wrinkling your nose.

“Might still have some liquor left in that, I don’t think the bartender rinsed it out well enough.” Dirk says slowly next to your ear, and you nod, accepting his answer as you finish it off and place it on a table by your thigh.

People passing by the two of you stop often to grasp at your hands, congratulatory words passing through their lips.

“Who are these people? What are they here for?” You ask Dirk dubiously after another pair of familiar looking people clap you on the back and wring your hands thoroughly, praising your work.

“They’re probably just fans of yours. You put another movie out recently, remember?” Dirk says harshly against your ear once again, stirring the light locks against the back and making you shiver. He quickens his pace and keeps a firm hand on your lower back as he brings you to a flight of grand stairs.

  
Distantly, this makes sense to you. Something about a box-office crushing sequel is relevant to your recent life in some way, through the dates are still fuzzy in your mind. The harder you try to put your finger on it, though, the further it seems to slip away from your grasp.   

“Are you sure this is Snoop Dogg’s party?” You sluggishly press into Dirk’s shoulder after he relents to your leaning and takes the brunt of your weight. The steps beneath your feet pitch and roll like the deck of a boat, and your hands leave sweaty fingerprints on the wall. A picture of some flowers crashes to the floor after a clumsy hand, and you squeeze your eyes shut slowly against the distant noise before your knees buckle a little.

“Warned you about the stairs, bro.” Dirk says as he tugs you along further, and in your fuzzy misery you miss the fact that a dozen cameras are pointed at you at the bottom of the steps, capturing your weak retreat in the arms of a handsome stranger that nobody knows the name of for tomorrow’s tabloids.

Finally a door opens under Dirk’s hand and you slither inside, crashing against the wall and falling a little to the floor when your feet finally fail you. Everything is muffled to your ears even before your little brother can shut the door behind the two of you, and soon Dirk’s arms are sliding under your own and he is hauling you to your feet.

“Up you go, Dave, that’s it.” He says as he guides you to the bed, dressed plainly in white crisp sheets that look like clouds to your blurred vision. “Why don’t you take a break?”

There’s a falsely sweet tone in his voice that sets your hair on edge, but you’re powerless to resist as you sit down on the edge and put your head in your hands. The colors on the back of your eyelids give you a headache, and you want to sleep for a long time.

“Let me just help you out of that.” Dirk says softly, sliding his hands to your suit jacket and pressing it off your shoulders slowly so that you have time to respond and let him peel it off your arms. Your shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Dirk kneels down in front of you and helps you out of your shoes, taking care to slide his hands up and down your legs in such a way that makes you try to shy away from the contact until you’re falling back into the sheets.

“That’s the idea Dave.” Dirk says as he climbs up next to you. A knock on the door startles you and you whimper into the pillow, aware only distantly of a pair of hands working off your tie. “It’s alright. I locked it.”

You aren’t sure if this fact is consoling or not, but the thought of being alone with your splitting head is a nice one, even though thin, cool fingers are pressing into the buttons on your chest.

Pushing at them doesn’t work, and it takes a moment for you to realize your eyes are closed. Once you blink them open everything is much too bright for your tastes, especially the smile on your little brother’s face.

“Dirk?” You try, cringing when your voice slithers out weakly and seems to break in the air.

“It’s alright, Dave, you’re okay” He says, popping the last button and placing his hands onto your stomach, watching it gleefully as the muscles try and flinch away from the contact. “Really good, actually, fucking ace, man.”

His hands traveled up your chest and over your shoulders, and when he straddles your hips and leans over you, you can’t exactly say you mind when he blocks out a lot of the light.

“It’s too bright in here, isn’t it?” He asks you smoothly, passing a hand through your hair and doing it again after you whimper. “I’ll turn off the lights, huh? Make it more intimate.”

His words sound strange to your ears, but you attribute that to the fact that everything sounds like you’re underwater.

The lights go off and you sigh, curling your fingers into the sheets weakly, feeling their texture and happy for the touch. The bed shifts when Dirk climbs up once more and he takes your hand to hold it tight.

“I wanted to do this for a while.” He whispers against your palm, voice soft and far away as you coast a little closer to unconsciousness. “It’s a shame I had to do it like this, but maybe next time you’ll come to me for it.”

He presses your hand to his chest and your fingers instinctively dig in to the skin you feel. He must have opened his shirt at some point, because fine hairs tickle your palm when he presses it flat and drags it down his front.

“Next time you’re gonna want to do this all on your own.” He says, nodding next to your head. You nod too, letting your eyes slide shut and your head roll back. Dirk presses your hand into the crotch of his pants and you can feel a hard bulge through his pants, insistent against your slack fingers, his excited and urgent breath against the hair on your neck, and his chapped and wet lips over the skin of your collar bones.

You feel his fingers ripping your belt out of the loops and sliding down your thighs. His tongue traces patterns beneath your belly button. His hand pressing over your mouth, your own grasping for his hair, his arms, his shoulders, your face.

He isn’t rough, and you’re thankful. He takes his time, savors every inch, every moment, every breath and gasp he can work from you under his tongue, then fingers, finally his dick and you feel it, every inch, every move, every thrust and each time he huffs against your neck and tells you how good you are, how nice it feels, how much he knows you love it.

The next morning you’re cold and stiff and sick to your stomach, especially when he grins as you roll over and hit his chest and tells you he’s never had that much fun at one of your premier parties before.

You’re trying to scrub your skin clean in the shower when a sick thrill churns your stomach as you realize you’re excited for the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> [more here!](http://www.turntechnologic.tumblr.com/)


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